These Melodies Came Back To Me
by chalantness
Summary: They've heard the stories, this story, dozens of times – the story of their parents falling in love. [ft. James and Tatiana Rogers]


**Title:** These Melodies Came Back To Me  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> ~2,700  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Steve/Natasha through the eyes of their kids, James and Tatiana  
><strong>Summary:<strong> They've heard the stories, _this_ story, dozens of times – the story of their parents falling in love.

**A/N:** I am a fan of _Once Upon A Time_, and there was a moment towards the end of the Season Three finale where Emma (the main character) was able to watch the moment her parents started falling in love, and I've really wanted to write something like that recently, so this is a result of that.

This directly references my fic "I Want You Just The Way You Are"

**These Melodies Came Back To Me  
><strong>

She, quite honestly, can't remember _how_ she got hit – just remembers the way her mother shouted for her and her brother, remembers the _terror_ in her brother's eyes as James threw himself towards her, grasping her into his arms and clinging onto her tightly, and—

And now her head hurts like hell.

"…do this to me, Tatiana, _don't you_ _dare do this to me_," a voice, frantic and hoarse, is saying over and over again, too close to her ear.

"James, I thought you promised never to yell at me," she groans out, flinching against the light as she blinks her eyes open. James is hovering a few inches from her, exhaling a shaky laugh as his face melts into pure relief, and he pulls her up and into his arms, hugging her as close to his chest as physically possible. For a moment, the throbbing in the back of her head eases to a dull ache, the fuzziness of her senses ebbs to numbness, and she just burrows her face into his shoulder like she's done so many times since they were kids.

"You scared the hell out of me, T," he sighs.

"Not my fault you scare easily," she murmurs. He chuckles as he combs his fingers into her hair, cradles the back of her head as he kisses the top of her head.

After a moment, when she feels his heartbeat slow to a less frantic rate, he asks, "Come on, can you stand?"

She nods. He shifts, pulling her up with him carefully, and she'd be annoyed by how fragilely he's treating her if, you know, her vision would stop blurring every few seconds. He keeps a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Where – where the hell are we?" She glances around. It'd been broad daylight, the last she remembered, and the last she remembered, they were in an open field and miles away from the nearest population, sent by Grandpa Nick to intercept yet another alien threat that managed to find itself on their planet.

But what she finds herself looking at, beyond the railing of the terrace they're standing on, is a city, bright with night life.

Billboards in the distance illuminate with colorful Broadway and movie advertisements, the traffic on the streets dotted with the yellow of taxi cabs, and, as she brings herself to walk towards the edge of the terrace, running her hand over the metal railing, she sees a familiar collection of lights threading through the branches of the park trees below. She frowns and glances at James, who looks as confused as she feels. This view feels vaguely familiar – _more_ than vaguely familiar. Glancing over her shoulder, she feels her breath leave her as she looks through the glass terrace doors and into the apartment—yes, they're definitely standing on the terrace of a New York apartment, and now she knows exactly what building.

"Dad," she breathes.

"What?" James snaps his head around and she grasps his wrist and tugs her with him. "Tatiana—"

"_Look_," she cuts him off, sliding the terrace doors open and rushing inside.

She stops suddenly and James hits into her back, mumbling a faint apology that dies on his tongue. She grips his wrist even tighter. "_Mom?_" he whispers, awed.

Because, yes, that's definitely their parents there in the living room – she'd recognize them anywhere, in a heartbeat – and there's really no doubt in her mind about it, even though they look… they look _different_.

"Daddy," Tatiana says, walking up to the couch, but her father doesn't so much as flinch. It's as if he hadn't heard her.

Her mother acts as if she can't see them, either, even though, as her father shrugs out of his blazer and sets it on the glass coffee table, Tatiana swears her mother stares at her – right _through_ her – as she glances away and digs her spoon into her ice-cream carton. Her mother looks so _young_. That's what's different about both of them, Tatiana realizes. Her parents have always looked young for their age, people have told her, especially with kids in their late teens – but this isn't the same. They look _young_ and they're acting strange with each other. Her mother shifts as her father settles into the couch, and they're sitting close together, but they're not in each other's space like Tatiana's used to seeing. Her mother doesn't stretch her legs over his, and her father doesn't pull her across his lap, and her mother doesn't tuck her face against his neck, and her father doesn't wrap her in his arms.

James squeezes her shoulder, and she knows he's noticing these little things, too.

"How was it?" her mother asks.

"It went well, I think," her father answers, though the tone of his voice doesn't match his words. "We hit it off. And she's a dame." Her mother gets this smile that doesn't reach her eyes and, finally, moves to stretch her legs over his lap, and this small moment feels so much like déjà vu.

Except… was their father was talking about another woman – talking about going on a _date_ with another woman?

"She was sweet and proper, classy—everything you said she'd be. You know how to pick them."

"_But_," her mother prompts. For a moment, Tatiana feels herself smile. _That_ still sounds like the mother she knows, the mother that always just _knows_. That tone of voice has is so utterly _her _that it makes Tatiana's eyes sting with tears.

Her father chuckles, pushes his fingers through his hair – something so utterly _him_ that she holds her breath for a moment – and her mother smiles.

"I'm not on her level."

"_Captain America_ isn't on the same level as a _senator's_ daughter? I find that hard to believe."

"How are we seeing this?" James asks as their mother goes on. "_What_ are we…" He pauses, watching with Tatiana as their mother feeds their father a spoonful of ice-cream, and something clicks into place for both of them. "Oh," he says.

She lets out a soft laugh, because, yeah – _oh_. How could she not recognize this moment any sooner? Their parents don't talk much of their pasts, but they always talk about _their past. _They've heard the stories, _this_ story, dozens of times – the story of their parents falling in love.

"How are we seeing this?" he repeats, and she shrugs, eyelashes dotting with tears as she blinks, and James makes a noise of surprise.

She looks up at him and lets out another laugh, wiping at her eyes. "Sorry, I'm just—"

"No, I know," he murmurs, pulling her close and squeezing her shoulder, and she knows he understands. "How many people get to watch their parents fall in love?"

"You know the story, James," Tatiana reminds lightly. "This isn't the moment they fell in love."

"No, but it's the moment is started."

She nods. Their parents have never said, in those exact words, what moment they knew they were in love – probably because they couldn't agree on a moment. They spent months dancing around each other, acting like idiots (yes, she's said that to their faces, and they laughed at her like she was being adorable, even though they knew she was serious), acting as if they didn't want to try to be together. But she could tell just from their stories, and all of the stories that Tatiana's aunts and uncles talked about it, that _this_ was the beginning. Tatiana wonders how many times they snuck into each other's apartments in the Stark Tower like this, just to be with each other – how many dates her mother stayed up for him to come back to her from, how many quiet moments like this they shared before they realized what was happening. It must've been dozens. Her parents were – _are _– stubborn people.

"Must be the side effects of whatever alien thing we got hit with," James says after a pause, answering his own question from before.

"Seems like the only explanation," Tatiana agrees.

Their parents are just sitting on the couch, letting the rerun they're watching come to an end, and, hesitantly, she eases herself onto the edge of the couch, and then shifts to make room for James. She thinks she's supposed to feel like she's intruding on this moment, but…

It's her _parents_.

"How long do you think it'll last?"

"I don't know," James admits. She looks at him and he rubs his hand over his neck. "I know it's supposed to be private, but I sort of want to—"

"I know," she says, and he smiles, leans over to kiss her hair like he does sometimes, just because.

"Hey, Nat," their father says softly, and grabbing their attention. Their mother tilts her head to meet his eyes. "I've begun to notice something," he tells her, letting his words hang in the air.

Their mother raises her eyebrows. "Care to share it with the class?"

Tatiana smiles at their banter, warmth spreading through her at the sound of it, comforting her, like the soft, foreign lullabies her mother would hum at her bedside at night, smiling down at her in the glow of the nightlight. Those melodies had soothed her into sleep, but it was the hushed conversations her parents shared, standing in the hallway between hers and James's bedroom doors, teasing and prodding at each other gently as (it appears) they've always had, that finally eased her into her dreams. She remembers all of the playful conversations between them trailing through the house from wherever they were, and hearing this never failed to put Tatiana and James in this blissful mood for the rest of the day.

"Every girl you pick for me," their father explains, and his tone is careful, but not cautious. He's used it with Tatiana time and time again, when he wants to let her know that he doesn't think she's afraid but wants to reassure her that it's okay if she is, anyway.

A tear rolls down Tatiana's cheek.

"They have a lot in common," their father says. "They're beautiful and intelligent and kind. They're perfect on paper, but none of them end up working out. There's always… _something_."

"Something," their mother echoes, and she's just staring at his profile as he pretends to be looking at the TV.

"Yeah, something," he says.

Tatiana feels James drape an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close, and she curls into his side like she always has, letting the comfort of her big brother settle over her. She can fall asleep so easily just lying against him like this, but not in the moment.

She's not going to miss this for anything.

"These girls are perfect on paper but not for me, and you set me up with them," their father says.

"And why would I do that?" Their mother's voice is barely more than a whisper, and there's no real question in it, because she already knows the answer. She says exactly that every time she'd tell Tatiana this story.

"I think that maybe you're trying to see if I'll settle for one of them," their father says softly, gently, and their mother turns to meet his eyes. Tatiana can see that she's afraid, and a little hopeful, and maybe also a bit relieved, for not having to say the words herself. Their father tilts his head, gauging her emotions, and then goes on when he sees that she wants him to. "I think it freaked you out when it was Maria and Sharon, because they're a little more like you and you could tell that I liked that. So you find these perfect girls that you know I won't go for because you feel safe leaving me with them." She presses her lips together. "Tell me, am I close?" he asks, and in any other moment, her mother would've laughed.

She leans over to set her ice-cream carton on the table, not meeting his eyes, but, somehow, still glancing at him. Tatiana recognizes this gesture from the times her parents have truly fought, and she knows this is because her mother wants to say something, just doesn't know _what_.

"Maria and Sharon… they're friends, and I only hit it off with them because they reminded me of you," he tells her, meaning it.

"Steve," she says.

"I want _you_, Nat," he tells her, and Tatiana feels James tighten his hold of her ever so slightly. Her eyelashes flutter, a few more tears sliding down her cheeks, and she lets out a soft laugh as James wipes at them with his gloved fingers. "Forgive me for being so forward, but—"

A voice, soft and muffled but still distinct, echoes in her ears, and she tenses, glancing up at James. He furrows his eyebrows, looking around.

"_James! Tatiana!_"

It's a harsh whisper, an urgent plea, steadily dropping into a panic, and Tatiana stands, James getting up seconds after her. _That_ – that was definitely their mother's voice. She looks at to where their parents are on the couch, their father rambling, their mother staring at him in nothing short of adoration, and James takes hold of her hand.

"This – whatever _this_ is – must be wearing off," he guesses.

"_You can do it. You can make it back to us_."

Tatiana squeezes her fingers around James's at the sound of their father's voice calling for them.

In the memory, their mother smiles, pushing her fingers through their father's hair and ruffling it a little, like she does with him and James sometimes, just because. "When you take me out," she begins, "can it not be anywhere where you'll have to put gel in your hair?"

There's a pause, and then their father exhales a laugh, tilting his head a little, as if trying to tilt into her hand. "Yeah, I hate having to style it."

Their mother giggles, and maybe it's stupid, but it makes Tatiana giggle in response.

"You have a beautiful laugh," their father tells her.

"I have a beautiful everything," their mother says, and this time, it's James that can't help but laugh. That response is _so_ much like their mother, it's crazy.

"I know," their father replies easily, nothing but sincerity in his voice, and Tatiana sees that same look of adoration settle in her eyes, shining and hopeful and full of _love_, even if neither of them will recognize it as that for a while, and she grasps onto his collar and pulls him in for a kiss.

This is the image that her eyes carry with her as she feels a rush of air come through her, and she sits herself up in a panic, gasping for breath, flinching against the sudden light as her eyes fly open, and then blinking as her vision, slowly, comes into focus. A hand is smoothing up and down her arm back, rubbing circles into it as she's trying to catch her breath again, and she looks over her shoulder to find that it's her father kneeling at her side. He's all but covered in sweat and dirt, but she doesn't hesitate to throw her arms around him and tuck herself against his chest, forehead pressing into the crook of his neck, and it's instant, the way he folds his arms around her, hugging her as close as physically possible.

"Daddy," she breathes, and it's all too familiar, the way he tucks his fingers into her hair as he kisses the middle of her forehead.

"You're alright," he tells her, tells himself_._

She looks over her shoulder and sees her mother kneeling beside James, combing her fingers through his hair. Tatiana all but throws herself into her mother's arms as well, and her mother holds onto her tightly, murmuring reassurances to herself in hushed Russian.

"_My girl_," she says, breath warm against Tatiana's ear, then kisses Tatiana's temple, her cheek, her forehead.

Another kiss gets pressed to her hair, and Tatiana tilts her head back to smile at James. There's a glint in his eyes, and she can't help but giggle. Their parents are looking between them, curiosity and amusement in their eyes.

"What is it?" their father asks.

"Nothing," James says, slumping onto the ground, resting his weight against Tatiana as they exchange lazy, blissful smiles. "It was just a good dream."


End file.
